


Les Fleurs du Mal

by baudelaire



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:52:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baudelaire/pseuds/baudelaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will shows up on Hannibal's doorstep in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

          It's almost exactly 1 AM when Hannibal Lector hears a knock at his door. He looks up from his book and rises from his seat. He carefully marks his page with a pressed maple leaf and walks to the door, smoothing his suit and hair. He grasps the Victorian doorknob just as Will Graham knocks a second time. Hannibal opens the door and his thin lips curve into a bemused smirk as he takes in the sight before him. Will's mussed hair is thrown every which way. His blue eyes are sunken and Hannibal takes note of the soft purple bags underneath them. "Fatigue, insomnia, ...," Hannibal mutters under his breath. Will is wearing nothing but a thin shirt and cotton boxers and is slightly shivering. Hannibal also notices that he has no shoes on. His feet are bruised and chapped.

          "My goodness, Will. Come in," he says at last. Will shows no intention of moving and they stand on the porch for a few more seconds with the wind whistling around them. Finally, Hannibal walks briskly toward Will. "Come now, Will. No sense in inviting the cold in." He slips an arm behind Will's shoulders at the exact moment that Will's legs crumple underneath him. It is at that moment that Hannibal realizes the gravity of the situation. With the practiced air of a surgeon he takes Will's legs and carries him into the house, bridal style. He sets Will down carefully onto the couch and walks back to the door and closes it after standing on the porch for a few moments looking for anything unusual.

          Hannibal then walks to the cold fireplace and deftly stacks logs onto the fire box. His long, dexterous fingers seek the matchbox on the mantle shelf. His fingertips graze the box, knocking them over. Hannibal stares at the place where the matchbox now lays. He bends at the waist and picks them up and a match is lit and a fire is sputtering before he returns to his former, stiff-backed stance. He stares intently at the fire with his hands in the pockets of his grey, pinstriped, Italian wool trousers. Except for the dark shadow cast over his eyes by his countenance, his visage is consumed in weaving, twisting shadows that seduce light and dark. 

After a few minutes he turns back and sits on the couch across Will, observing him. Will has goosebumps up and down his entire body and he shivers while covered in cold sweat. Hannibal gets up off the couch and walks until he is in front of Will and squats. He strokes Will's palm with his fingertips. His palms are clammy. Hannibal casts his eyes to Will's face. Hannibal furrows his brow as he sees the hollows in Will's cheeks that means that he hasn't been eating or sleeping very well, or not at all. Despite this, Will's face captures an infantile innocence that is suddenly disrupted by the rapid movement behind his eyelids. His breath hitches and his limbs jerk spasmodically. Whimpers escape his throat. Hannibal immediately takes control of Will's wrists with one hand. He turns Will over onto his chest and mounts the small of his back and stretches Will's arms over his head until he stops thrashing. Hannibal is exerted with his efforts to keep Will from hurting the both of them. His styles hair falls over his eyes and his brow visibly relaxes as Will's body ceases to contort. Only when he completely stops moving does Hannibal dismount him. He releases his hold on Will's bruised wrists. His arms bend slightly at the elbows and fall limply over his head. 

Hannibal lifts himself up and brushes all signs of the tussle from his clothes. He raises his hands to his hips and stands for a few seconds panting in short, small gasps. Will is extremely able-bodied, and in a frenzied state, even more so, even for Hannibal. After his pulse falls back into a steady rate, Hannibal stoops down and examines Will's face. There is no sign of perturbation and besides the fact that he is now lying on his stomach instead of his back there is no change in Will's appearance compared to just a few minutes ago. Hannibal bats his eyes down and stretches his fingers out to take Will's pulse. His fingers hover over Will's clavicle, his sternum, and then his jugular vein. Hannibal focuses on the steady cadence of the vein. He finally presses his fingers to it when Will suddenly grabs Hannibal's wrist. Hannibal starts and his eyes jump to Will's. 


	2. Chapter 2

Will's eyes are now open. They jump frantically around the room. He crushes Hannibal's wrist before he relaxes his grip and throws his arms around Hannibal's neck as he chokes out a sob. Hannibal, embarrassed by the emotional gesture, gently removes Will's arms from his neck and says with a small frown, "Will, you're thoroughly upset and extremely fatigued, mentally and physically. How long has it been since you last slept or had a full meal?"  


"Where am I," Will says, ignoring Hannibal's question. He scrambles to get up before Hannibal pushes him back down onto the couch with one hand.  
He gives Will a wry grin. "It is 1:04 AM. You are in Dr. Hannibal Lecter's house. Your name is Will Graham.:  
Will nods slowly which contrasts with his eyes which still frantically flutter as he scours the room for something, anything unusual. "It is 1:04 AM. I am in Dr. Hannibal Lecter's house. My name is Will Graham."  


"Good. Very good. Now do you care to explain what you are doing at my house at 1:04 in the morning wearing nothing but sleepwear," Hannibal asks placidly with a pointed glance at Will's sweat-soaked undershirt. Will looks around him. He runs his hand through his disheveled hair and gets the uneasy feeling that he is being watched.  


"I don't know exactly. I think I was being chased, but I don't exactly know who was chasing me, or why for that matter," he says with a shrug, feigning nonchalance. His fidgety fingers and feet give him away. "By the way, are the doors locked?" Will's eyes jump to the mahogany doors.  
"I assure you, you are quite safe here, Will," Hannibal says. He pauses and asks, " Do you care for a glass of wine?" Will gratefully accepts and Hannibal gives a curt nod before striding down the dark corridor to his wine cellar. Will watches Hannibal's retreating back. His eyes have yet to lose their manic sheen and he fiddles with his fingers nervously. Will gets up to pace the room restlessly. 

He stops at Hannibal's desk and picks up a well-worn, leather-bound copy of Charles Baudelaire's Les Fleurs du Mal. He open it to a page containing a pressed maple leaf and he carefully places it down on Hannibal's desktop. He turns to lean on Hannibal's desk. _"Ma jeunesse ne fut qu'un ténébreux orage, Traversé çà et là par de brillants de soleils; Le tonnerre et la pluie ont fait un tel ravage, Qu'il reste en mon jardin bien peu de fruits vermeils_ ," he mutters as he crinkles his nose. Hannibal suddenly appears by his side, and Will quickly places and maple leaf back into the book and sets it back down on Hannibal's desktop.  


"Interested in our good man, Baudelaire, are we, Will?" says Hannibal while offering a squat, stemless wineglass.  


"Oh, no; the cover looked interesting," replies Will, taking the wineglass. There is a thin sheet of condensation that rests in a light veil over the glass. Will raises the cup to his lips and tips his head back to drink. Hannibal stares sharply at his face. Will notices this and lowers the cup. His upper lip is a sinfully rufescent color. "Is something wrong?" asks Will. Hannibal says nothing.  


In a few seconds, Will brings his hands to his stomach. His eyes widen in confusion and betrayal as he the wineglass slips from his fingers. It shatters into a thousand pieces, scattering pinpricks of sharp light in every direction with a tinkling note. The scarlet wine trickles through the shards into the cracks between the wooden floorboards. Will is now lying supine on the ground in a dreamless, induced sleep. Hannibal quickly takes his pulse; it has fallen to an almost imperceptible murmur. He purses his lips and takes a burgundy handkerchief from his breast pocket. He dabs at the wine on Will's slightly parted lips.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Will sees when he wakes is an IV drip. His hair is matted to one side from his position on the pillow. Will pulls the long IV needle from his arm. He rubs the sleep from his eyes. His head is throbbing and the room is too hot. He pushes the white duvet covers off his torso and legs and pushes himself off the bed. Almost immediately, black spots swim before his eyes and he feels light-headed. He scrabbles for a hold on anything. His knees buckle and he tumbles onto the floor, prostrate. He is too dizzy to feel any pain and is unable to move until the spell passes.

He opens his eyes slowly and lifts his head to look around wearily. The room is immaculate. It has a sharp, sterile smell, like the white halls of a hospital. Facing the head of the bed is a tapestry depicting the human anatomy. It displays and labels all pressure points, arteries, ligaments, and tissues. Beside the bed is a mahogany dresser. Atop the dresser is an African Violet; fake, upon further inspection. These appear to be the only furnishings in the room. The room is lit by long, fluorescent bulbs suspended to the ceiling. There are no windows or doors. He drags himself to the edge of the king-size bed and falls against it, perspiration dotting his forehead. He tilts his head back and shuts his eyes.

"The time is unknown, the location is unknown, my name is Will Graham," Will says with a silent moan of pain. His head ache is getting worse by the minute.

"The time is 11:45 AM, the location is Dr. Hannibal Lecter's house, and your name is, indeed, Will Graham," Hannibal says with a thin-lipped smile. Will's eyes fly open and he turns his neck to see Hannibal emerging from a hidden door behind the woven tapestry.

"Hannibal, what am i doing here," hisses Will in a hushed tone. His eyes dart around the room.

"Will, I assure you there is no cause to be concerned. Don't you remember anything at all?" Hannibal asks, looking down at Will.

"I can't remember anything. It feels like the battery bunny is pounding my head. Don't you have pills or something for this?" Will says with a contorted smile.

Hannibal pauses. "Do you really remember nothing at all, Will?" he says quietly.

"No. Do you?" Will asks in a sarcastic, nasal tone. He brings his hand to his forehead as if it will somehow calm the throbbing.

"Will, at your present state, I would not give you medication, even if I had it available. You are extremely fatigued and dehydrated. I am surprised you even have the cognitive capacity to be holding a conversation," Hannibal says. "You shouldn't have gotten out of bed, Will. Get back in and I'll bring you breakfast," Hannibal says as he turns to leave.

"Wait, aren't you going to explain what I'm doing here," Will says, calling out to Hannibal's shrinking form.

"Breakfast first, Will," says Hannibal's retreating voice. He brushes aside the shuts the door behind him with a muted click. The sound of his footsteps diminish and then disappear altogether. Will, now in bed, stares at the tapestry. The way all the bones connect, how the veins snake to all parts of the body, providing blood and oxygen fascinates Will. He doesn't realize he's staring until he hears a soft knock. His cheeks get hot and he cuts his eyes away as if he had been caught watching a porno.

The door swings open and Hannibal brushes aside the curtain. Will expects an embarrassingly lavish meal, so he is surprised when instead, Hannibal places before him a stiff, white-collared shirt with black trousers, topped with a sprig of lavender.

"Wow, doesn't this look delicious," Will mutters.

"Get dressed, Will. No use in dishonoring the food with your unsightly attire," Hannibal says with a sniff. Will ignores the comment and gingerly picks up the lavender with his fingertips.

"Lavender?"

"Yes, lavender," Hannibal replies stiffly, as if daring Will to say otherwise. "I will be waiting outside. Call for me when you are finished dressing. Unless you need help?"

"No. But thank you. I'm sure I'll be fine," Will says. Hannibal then exits the room. Will ignore his pounding headache and tugs on the trousers and shirt, both of which are lightly scented with the flower, without getting out of bed. The minute effort it requires exerts Will completely and after he is dressed, he flops onto the bed, exhausted. His headache pounds mercilessly and everything from his hair follicles to his toes ache. "Hannibal," he rasps. There is no movement. "Hannibal," he calls louder. The door opens and Hannibal enters with a bronze, varnished tray. He places it onto the mahogany dresser beside Will and and takes his pulse. Hannibal pokes at Will's inner arm and deftly inserts the IV drip needle. Will winces and tugs his arm away from Hannibal. Hannibal props the pillows up behind him. 

"Can you pull yourself up, Will?" Hannibal asks. Will struggles to push himself up onto the pillows, and when he is finished, he leans his head back and shuts his eyes. 

"There's something wrong with me, isn't there," says Will, with a tone that suggest it is more of a declaration than a question. Hannibal places the tray in Will's lap and pushes a brass fork into Will's hand.

"Eat. It's not much but it should fill you up," Hannibal says with a grim tone. Will looks into Hannibal's eyes and then looks down onto the tray. It holds a crystal glass of water and a small plate of carved meat. Will forces himself to take a small bite of the meat. It has a rough texture but it is fairly easy to chew and tastes sweet and rich. He raises the cup and takes a small sip, immediately spitting it out beside the bed.

"Hannibal, what the hell," Will says with a grimace while wiping his mouth with the handkerchief Hannibal provides.

"Drink the rest, Will. It's sugar water. You're severely dehydrated; the water will help you retain liquids," Hannibal says. He takes the handkerchief from Will and dabs at the water he spit on the floor. Will continues eating and Hannibal watches him. A phone rings. Will starts to get up, but Hannibal stops him. They share a glance and Hannibal says," Eat. The call is probably for me." He gives Will one last look and gets up from Will's bedside. He straightens his suit and exits the room. Will watches the tapestry distort, then straighten.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is always appreciated. :)  
> 


End file.
